


A Nice Night for a White Wedding

by badwolfbadwolf



Series: Mating Games [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been away at college, and he sees Derek again at Scott and Allison's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Nice Night for a White Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Mating Games week 6 challenge: fanfic tropes. But it got too long and I decided to expand it, so here it is!

“This is only my second piece of cake,” Stiles says defensively as he jabs at Derek with his fork.

Derek raises a thick eyebrow, licking a trace of pink frosting from the corner of his mouth and making Stiles’ knees weak.  He pokes at Stiles’ belly and gives a lighthearted smile that Stiles has never seen before.  “Working on that freshman fifteen, eh?”

“I’m a junior, you dolt,” Stiles mutters between bites, only remembering to cover his mouth after it’s too late.  

“I know,” Derek says easily, and Stiles wonders what Derek’s spent all this time doing while Stiles has been off drowning in term papers at college.  Derek certainly looks the same, still ruggedly handsome though he’s lost some of the muscular bulk he once carried around.  Still smug and annoying, too, especially that way he’s stuffing in cake like he hasn’t just eaten a three-course meal.  But there’s something different.  Like he’s lighter, his face less drawn, and a little softer around the edges now.  

Stiles catches Derek’s eyes and quickly drops his gaze down to his plate, clearing his throat and unsure how to make conversation with this version of Derek.  Mercifully, Erica interrupts their silence to whisk Derek off to the dance floor, leaving Stiles to watch the wolf’s two left feet amid the sea of tuxes and sparkling dresses.  He watches his friends dance together, all paired up and happy while he scuffs his rented dress shoe on the edges of the dance floor feeling like a third wheel.  Or seventh wheel.  Or whatever.

Scott appears by his side, handing Stiles a new glass of champagne, his brown eyes shiny.  He gives Stiles a once over before blurting out,  “You ever gonna tell him?”  Subtlety was never one of Scott’s strong suits.

“Nope,” is Stiles’ witty reply.  They watch the crowd in silence for a moment, the easy night breeze brushing over their shoulders.  

“Where’s your wife, dude?” Stiles asks because it’s fun to say and also he won’t have to think about Derek anymore.  He claps Scott on the back and grins widely, looking at where Scott nods. He spots Allison’s coiffed curls, the white veil spilling down her shoulders as her father twirls her around, her cheeks dimpled and flushed.

“I’m so lucky,” Scott says, and the earnestness hurts Stiles just a little, right in the heart.  Because he’s happy for Scott, he is.  He’s happy to stand up for him as his Best Man, to give a stupid toast, to stand in the pictures and beam with happiness.  But Stiles… Stiles has never had someone look at him with quite the same amount of undying love.  Inevitably it makes him think of his mom and his throat clogs up and he has to fake a cough to get through the sudden clench of emotion leeching out of him.

The Funky Chicken blares out and Scott drags Stiles by the hand onto the dance floor and into the pack of smiling faces.  Then he’s Stiles again, goofy and grinning and kicking Derek in the shins when he’s not looking.

***

Stiles makes his way down the darkened beach, the din of the party rapidly fading as he moseys along the water’s edge.  The waves lull and he only makes it a few hundred feet when he sees Derek’s thick legs hanging out the end of an Adirondack chair.  Liquid courage has apparently made him brave because he doesn’t hesitate to plop down in the seat next to him, staring out at the moon’s rippling reflection on the dark water’s surface.

“We’re old, dude,” Stiles says because he doesn’t know what else to say.  “People are getting married.”

Derek looks at him like Stiles has just said something so obvious it’s idiotic, and Stiles has kind of missed that look.  A lot.

“And I’m still here.  Or  _there_ , rather.  Alone.”  Stiles has always had a problem keeping his mouth shut, and he doesn’t quite know why he’s pouring his heart out to Derek when Derek’s never been one to share his feelings.  Especially not with Stiles.  They haven’t even talked in over a year.  It must have been that last glass of champagne though, because there’s a brush against his knuckles and Stiles is just drunk enough that he doesn’t startle out of his seat when he feels the back of Derek’s hand pressed against his.

“If you’re old then what am I?” Derek laughs quietly, head tipping back to look up at the blackness of the sky.  The stars stretch above them, their spot on the beach far enough away from the houses and the bonfires to be quiet and dark.

“Do you really want me to answer that, Sourwolf?” Stiles teases, because old habits die hard.  

They’re silent again, Stiles watching Derek’s toes, noting how the second one is longer than the big one and how the dark hair fuzzes up the top like a Hobbit’s foot.

“Why’d we never… you know,” Derek says softly, and Stiles feels his chest tighten up with a cross between nerves and panic.  Derek’s fingers have started tracing the back of Stiles’ hand, drawing patterns over his freckles while Stiles fights to keep still.

“Why’d we never what?”

“You know,” Derek says in the most obtuse way possible.

Stiles bursts out laughing, breaking the serene mood before sitting up to gape at Derek who looks completely serious, and maybe like he’s blushing.

“Maybe cause you’ve always hated me.  Acted like I was your little brother who you couldn’t stand?  Cause you’re gorgeous and I’m most definitely  _not_.  And because I gave you how many opportunities and you never, not even once seemed like…  like I… meant anything to you.”  It hurts a little too much to say all those things he’d thought he’d come to terms with.  But the ragged edges still ache, apparently.

“I’ve never hated you, Stiles,” Derek says quietly, and Stiles can’t quite swallow because Derek has turned his intense gaze on him and is bringing a finger up to run along Stiles’ cheekbone and brush against the bow of his lip.  “You’ve always been…”

He’s so close Stiles can see every freckle and hair and the thin ring of gold around his pupils.  And Derek looks so serious and soft and almost like he’s  _hurt_ , and that’s something Stiles can’t stand either.

“Been what?” Stiles finds the courage to ask, so close to just kissing Derek but terrified he’s misreading everything horribly.

“Been it for me.  But first you were too young, and then.  Then I thought you didn’t… anymore… And you went away.”  

There’s a lightness in his stomach that makes Stiles feel like he’s going to float right off the chair but he swallows and fists his hands into Derek’s collar, bunching up the stiff fabric and tugging him close.  Because he’s older now, and he is  _not_  going to fuck this up again.

“No, I still— yes, I still want— Derek.  It’s always been you.”  Their lips meet and it’s so sweet and so surreal, and Stiles’ feet are in the sand and Derek’s hand is in his hair and tongue is licking into him and Stiles can’t even breathe.  Then it’s like a dam has been broken and Stiles can’t get enough, fingers gripping tight and mouth frantic as Derek pulls him right over the arm of the chair and onto his lap.  They hear the wooden slats squeak with their combined weight and Stiles laughs out, the ridiculousness of it all just swooping over him as Derek attaches himself to Stiles’ neck and sucks.  

Derek’s hands are warm everywhere, at Stiles’ jaw, his shoulders, sliding underneath his dress shirt to pluck at a nipple until Stiles shudders into his grip and grinds downward.  He feels the hard line of Derek’s cock against his thigh and he leans forward to press their foreheads together.

“How okay are you with public sex?” Stiles asks, his mind barely comprehending that he is asking Derek Hale this question while grinding down on his lap on a beach chair, getting their rented tuxedos dirty.

“I’m okay with it,” Derek answers into Stiles’ neck, his hands working down Stiles’ trousers and kissing him like he really means it.  

“Alright, good.  Because you better be prepared for the whole Stiles Experience.”

Derek laughs, deep and rich, the sound resonating in Stiles’ chest as he leans close to taste it on Derek’s lips.  

“I’ve missed you,” Derek says softly, and that more than anything makes Stiles’ toes curl and his heart swell up beneath his ribs.

“Missed you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as [badwolfbadwolff](http://badwolfbadwolff.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi!


End file.
